


there's a boy in the crater

by ReluctantlyGlutenFree



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: :crab: L'manburg is gone :crab:, Angst, Character Study, Dream Smp, Gen, Post-January 6th, Pretty much just sadness, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, You're Welcome, because that's obviously just what all of us need, more sadness, no beta we die, this is pretty much just different peoples take on the destruction of L'manburg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28642230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReluctantlyGlutenFree/pseuds/ReluctantlyGlutenFree
Summary: There's a boy in the crater he'd once tried to fix.That crater is much deeper now.
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Kudos: 78





	1. Tubbo

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Just a short little thing I wanted to put together while I work on some bigger projects. Stay strong bois, everything hurts right now.
> 
> Here's the obligatory disclaimer, this is written strictly about the fictional characters depicted on the Dream SMP and not at all intended to reflect the real people.
> 
> I don't think that there are any warnings other than mentions of blood? I could be wrong though, I really haven't read this one over very well. :/

There's a boy in the crater he'd once tried to fix.

His massacred dreams lie dead beside where he trembles in the rubble. Their decomposing bodies reek of blood, and burned wood, and gunpowder.

It's raining—no, _pouring_. The flames around him sizzle and spit smoke as they're extinguished.

He's soaked to the bone. 

His body twitches and convulses as beads of salty rain water beat against his burns, seeping into every exposed cut and wound he bares.

It _stings_. It stings so terribly but it's become such a familiar feeling, he can't bring himself to pay it any mind or give it any special treatment.

He isn't crying.

His eyelids are heavy—they have been for a long time—and he finally let's them fall. 

His hands desperately scour the ground for anything to cling to, but the charred debris disintegrates into dust regardless of how gently he coddles it; the stones are too heavy and jagged to be held, leaving his hands bloody and slit.

_There's nothing._

He was once given a _country_. A _crater_. A phantom of glory, and freedom, and _home_.

He was once given nothing _and he made something of it_.

He was once handed a marred land, disfigured and scarred beyond repair. A nation, once extolled in magnificence and poise, kicked to the curb by everyone it retreated to.

Then it arrived upon his doorstep.

_Of course_ he let it in.

(Even if it's the reason he has scars and burns that match the blemishes in its terrain.

_Even if_ it's never paid him any mind until he's the only one willing to take it.)

Everyone wants a part of L'manburg,

_but no one wants its full weight._

  
No one _dared_ to step up and rule his country, but everyone seemed to believe they could do better.

They told him to assert himself, to not let anyone push him around, _to do what he thought was best_.

He does this and is screamed at, disrespected, undermined, and doubted.

He does this and is likened to a villian. A tyrant. The _very man who gave him scars and stole one of his lives_.

Then they told him to give in, to follow, to _trust them_.

  
He does this and is called an idiot, a coward, ' _the worst President L'manburg's ever had_ '.

He reckons they're probably right.

_It's all his fault._

But he learned to push these things down. He learned not to dwell on them, and to do his best, and what he truly believed was right. 

He learned to be selfless. 

He learned to sacrifice. To give _everything_ he had in the hopes of peace.

Once, he was given nothing but a title; a responsibility for a country that had been betrayed, left in ashes by the hand of its creator.

Once he was given nothing but a crater.

That crater's much deeper now.

_And it's all his fault._

His country made him grow up. It made him into a soldier, a spy, a martyr, a _President._

It takes all those roles back in time. 

He gave all he had to break the cycle. He did everything he could to not fall like those before him,

yet, he shares in their fate.

He is left all alone in the ashes of what he's created.

He presses his forehead to the sharp stone, ignoring how it tears against his skin, and he finally rests his eyes. The suit that's barely hanging off his shaken frame is in tatters. 

_It wasn't even his suit to begin with._

Its brass buttons have all faded or fallen off, its sleeves have been slashed, leaving his arms exposed. It isn't just his own blood that stains it.

But..it has always been a little too large for him anyways.

A boy is in the crater,

not a _soldier_ , or a _spy_ , or a _President_ ,

only a tired, burned boy that wishes the land that he gave everything for would've been merciful enough to just take his life too.


	2. Tommy

* * *

There's an exile at the edge of what was once his home.

He was the last one to stop fighting, the last one to stop believing even after _everything_ this land has done to him.

(He's the last one to stop fighting for a home that rejected him _time and time_ again.)

When it's all finally over the rain bites against his skin and rinses his bloodied hair; his armor is dented and chipped, made obsolete. 

When it's all finally over his legs sway as he surveys the canyon that was once his home.

The country had once given him purpose. It had once been his family, and freedom, his _home_.

He'd once been it's hero.

All he's ever known is how to fight. He fought for his friends, for his discs, and he fought for his home.

He was the last one to stop fighting for the country that gave and took. He's the last one to stop fighting for the country that had hurt him.

He never stops loving it. 

  
( _Even when_ it stole back all the things he once loved it for.

_Even when_ it casted him out and ripped away the _one thing_ he wasn't willing to sacrifice on it's _insatiable_ altar.

_Even when_ it sent him far away to lose the fire that once burned so brightly in his eyes.

_Even when_ it _never_ loved him back.)

It's a tragic, unrequited love that blinds him to ever seeing that once he'd run out of prized possession to give up, he was worthless.

The exile traded his only living brother—his hero, sworn enemy, and last alliance—for the ones who'd betrayed him. One last attempt to right his wrongs, one last effort to come home, _one last sacrifice to be the hero again._

The culmination of all his mistakes lead to one final one that he didn't expect to hurt as bad as it did. 

But as unprecedented emotion leaks into his untouchable, indifferent brother's shouts,

he realizes he's made yet _another_ mistake he can't undo.

(He isn't sure which hurts worse: hurting his last brother or watching said brother annihilate his home.)

The home, that really was never his, is _gone_. 

Heaps of unearthed soil surround the gaping cavity that once again swallows the city—a testament to the irreversible sins of the country and its founders.

His country makes him a soldier, a hero, a vice-president, an exile,

but it's just a boy who stands on the ledge that dips into the carnage below. 

It's just a boy who crumbles, body racked in sobs, shoulder's shaking violently under the weight of betrayal, and trauma, and loneliness, and indescribable _loss_.

His home, and freedom, and family, and purpose is really, truly _gone_.

There's a boy weeping on the edge of destruction.

A boy who has hurt others and been hurt, a boy who has lied and been lied to, a boy who has used and been used.

A boy who is fiercely loyal and had been forced to choose between his loyalties.

A boy who won't learn his lesson.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is super short but writing is basically how I cope with all the canon feels so I needed to do something. I probably won't ever do something like this again but since I'm still plotting out my other story I wanted to just go ahead and do something. Anyways, thank you so much for reading this! I'm tired and I hate it but thank you none the less!


End file.
